Parenting Without A License

Shady Deals

28 Nov 2011 Leave a Comment

by runswithdiapers in Stupid does not descriminate

I love Black Friday shopping. I’ve gone every year for the last four years now. I usually map out a plan with whoever agrees to be my shopping buddy, grab some Starbucks, and set my sights on the store with the most deals. Something about the anticipation of nabbing a great deal is super exciting, isn’t it? It doesn’t really even matter what the deal is as long as it’s a deal. “Guess what I paid for these toe socks?! FIVE CENTS!!! Everybody’s getting a pair!” Yes! Toesocks! Awesome. Just what everybody wants for Christmas…two layers of cotton shoved between each individual toe. That should be considered a form of torture.

To date, I’ve never made it home on Black Friday with an advertised “doorbuster.” You know what I mean by doorbuster: those tempting ads they put out weeks ahead of time that make people insane enough to camp out in front of the store for hours, or even days. Those people are nuts! Or maybe I just value my time too much. An hour of my time that could be spent playing with my kids, or better yet, sleeping, has got to be worth at least $200. And that price goes up the older I get. There was one year we made it home with a TV on supersale. But as soon as we plugged it in it almost caught on fire. Returned and lesson learned.

So really, I’m not a slow learner, I continue to go for the fun of it more so than the objective to grab a great steal-of-a-deal. I was really disappointed that this year stores were opening at midnight and even 9pm on Thanksgiving! That ruins it for me. That takes away all the excitement of waiting, of getting up super early and coming home to crash after a long morning, of getting to enjoy the holiday separately from the shopping day…bleh! It just ruins it! No more Black Friday Thursday, whatever, for me.

However, I’m not stupid! If I was planning on buying something anyway, I may as well try to get it when it’s on sale. Enter: online shopping. Hello? Killer deals for great prices with free shipping and I never have to change out of my PJ’s or get off my couch? Sign me up! Or…so you think…

Online Shopping: Take One

The item in mind: A step2 Push buggy, pink of course, to push my little K around at the park. Awwww. The steering wheel even has a horn. Super cute! Regular price: $60. Black Friday in-store deal: $25. Dang! Maybe I should go stand in line. Wait! Online price: $30. Cool! I’d spend the extra $5 bucks in gas to get there, have to wait in line four days, and they may be gone before I can even grab one. Online it is!

I put it in my virtual cart and go to checkout. Price: $60.

What?!

Reload.

Price: $60.

Okay, it’s only 11:00pm. Not officially Black Friday, nevermind the store opened at 9pm, but I can wait. So I set my alarm for 12:01am.

At 12:01am I get back online only to realize the server is so busy that it takes 15 minutes for each page to load, and that’s if it loads at all. By 1am I have made it to checkout.

Error: can’t fetch price!

What?!?! What the heck does that mean.

Reload. Checkout. Error. Repeat.

I do this multiple times.

Okay, keep in mind I’m doing this from the mobile site on my phone. So I chose to visit the full site just to see if there is a glitch. There is! Thank goodness! I really want the buggy now. I can picture it under the tree. The server is still painfully busy but by 2am I’m ready to check out.

Price: $30. Yes! Total: $72. What?!?!?!

Shipping. Yes, shipping!!! Are you kidding me? Shipping cost more than the toy?! No way! So I go back to the main site…*Free Shipping on orders of $49 or greater. Great! Well, I don’t want two buggies, but I really want the one, so let me see if they have anything else I can get for the girls…they got me!

After another hour of shopping online with dial-up page loading speed, I finally am satisfied with my selections.
Checkout. Finally! $30 toy I cane to buy, $20 worth of junk I have to buy, Grand total: $82.

Wait just a cotton-pickin’-minute!

I read the fine print: *Free shipping on orders $49 or greater up to $20 off total shipping

Are you serious? It’s 4am. And I still don’t have a buggy. I got online at ELEVEN o’clock! I could have been to the store, run somebody down with a shopping cart, been arrested, gotten bailed out, grabbed a milkshake, and been home by now. This is ridiculous! Online shopping is supposed to be easier, right?

Now I understand why people are so crazy. I will not be wasting my time again to save a few bucks. I DID not order the buggy and I’m threw with my Christmas shopping. Thank you Toys R Us for trying to con me out of $80 for a toy you are running on Black Friday sale for $25.

Again. Lesson learned.

Fast Food Part II

07 Sep 2011 Leave a Comment

by runswithdiapers in Stupid does not descriminate

I always wondered if I wrote a book, what would I write about? I mean, just read through my blog…it’s completely random, right? Sometimes it’s about parenting, sometimes about my life in general, but most times it’s about what irritates me. Well, worry no more. I have an answer. I think I will dedicate my first book to the absolute retardedness that is the American Fast Food industry. Oh yes, it’s time to rip on McDonalds, my friends. They’ve had it coming for a while now.

Considering I haven’t cooked (microwaved) a real meal in months, I have to say I’m pretty proud of my restraint up until this point. Pat yourself on the back for me. Go ahead! No one’s looking. I have become a regular patron at your local drive thru and let me tell you, they are all created equal. However, this morning I had the ultimate experience of, “Did that really happen? Seriously…”

So, I was a little early for an appointment and decided coffee and a breakfast burrito would kill some time. I pull up to the window and the young lady hands me my coffee with a regular top. Like for a straw. Who drinks coffee through a straw? Now, there are days I wish coffee came in IV form, but never once have I thought to myself, “I think I’ll suck down some burning hot coffee as fast as I can through a straw the size of a PVC pipe.” Nope, never crossed my mind. I prefer to sip my flaming mocha through a coffee lid. Spoiled that way, I suppose. Sad story.

When she attempted to hand it to me, I asked her, “What’s that?”, with a puzzled look on my face that must have read: are you retarded? She fumbled for a minute with her words before she said they were out of coffee lids for the medium cups. Okay. So I asked her to put it in a small cup. Again, she just garbled at me and tried to clarify what I was saying and what she was supposed to do with the rest of the coffee. Clearly, she was in shock that a regular lid was a sucky substitute for a coffee lid. Bless her heart. I tried to be as specific as I could. “Pour that coffee in one small cup and dump the rest down the sink. I don’t care that I paid for a medium. I really need a COFFEE lid because I will make a huge mess. Thanks.” She seemed satisfied with the step by step instructions and went to fix my coffee.

Then, with a smile, she hands me a small coffee with a REGULAR lid. Again, my response was, “What’s that?”, only my non-verbal communication was screaming, “Why did they put you in the drive thru??? Please go scrub a toilet.” Not nice, I know. I have great control over what I say…what I think, not-so-much. I feel bad for her. A little.

Then she tells me, “I told you we were out of coffee lids?”

Really?

Anybody else want to finish this story…

My monologue that followed went something like this: “Noooo…you told me you were out of MEDIUM lids so I asked you to put it in a small cup with a small lid. If you had told me they were the SAME size coffee lids, I would not have asked you to pour out half of my coffee I paid ten dollars for. Give me a coke please.”

At this point she was so overwhelmed, I think I could have gotten a Big Mac out of her if I hadn’t been afraid she would pack it in a cup holder because they were out of boxes or something else stupid. “Here’s your Big Mac, ma’am. Sorry, we ran out of sacks but I put it in a trash bag for you.” Thanks.

Soooo…instead of my yummy mocha, they gave me a half-gallon sized cup of watered down flat coke. Awesome! It went well with the stale burrito that tasted like filet-o-fish. I can’t get too mad at the drive-thru girl. She looked pretty young and I worked drive-thru, myself, as a teenager. It’s my own fault that I keep going back like they will spontaneously learn how to function between today and tomorrow.

I definitely won’t be going back to THIS McDonald’s. Mostly because the last time I was there (to get coffee), the same chick was working drive thru when I ordered my mocha only to wait twenty minutes to pay and then hear, “Sorry, but we’re not selling the mochas right now because we have to clean the machine once a day, so we can’t make them.” I told her 8:30am was a really dumb time to clean the coffee machine and thanks for not telling me when I ordered so I could wait in line 20 minutes for NOTHING!

Ugh…did that come out of my mouth??? Yes, yes it did. This is why I need coffee. I should not be allowed to interact with people until I have some.

To the girl in the drive-thru, I’m sorry that you have had to deal with ne undercaffeinated. From now on, I’ll harass the people of Starbucks. That’s the REAL reason they charge so much for their coffee, I think. It’s because they have to pay their employees double to deal with crabby jerkwad customers, like me, who can’t function socially without their morning caffeine fix.

Screaming in the rain

18 Aug 2011 Leave a Comment

by runswithdiapers in Stupid does not descriminate

I love rainy days, don’t you? The sound of rain and thunder are so soothing. Right now it’s dark outside and pouring. I’m snuggled up in bed with my PJs on comfortably sipping my morning mocha, courtesy of McDonald’s, with Katelynn happily cooing and chewing her toys beside me. For once, I have no pressing plans for today other than laundry and dishes (maybe…napping sounds better). Life is peaceful at the moment so I am enjoying the rainy weather.

If you had caught me around, say eight-ish this morning, however, I probably would have lost my religion on you over the torrential downpour I had to walk through to get Hannah to her preschool class. I’m pretty sure Desoto County had a hurricane this morning. I think I saw Geraldo in the parking lot in a poncho. It was awful and kinda scary. If I had cable, maybe I could have prepared and constructed an Ark. Although, as many cool things as the Mothership (my new name for the van) can do, I wouldn’t be surprised if it could morph into a Carnival Cruise Ship.

Anyway, it wasn’t raining when we left the apartment this morning and I only vaguely remember some dark clouds to the north of us on the way there, but keep in mind this was pre-McMocha. I’m not functionally human until I get my coffee. As soon as we hit the parking lot, though, things changed. Raindrops the size of small asteroids began threatening to shatter my windshield and before I could take my next breath we were having a full-on monsoon. So, I sat there waiting for the worst to pass, but after 15 minutes I couldn’t wait any longer since I had an appointment to make and Hannah was growing increasingly anxious about being left at school. So in my infinite mommy wisdom, I decided to grab both umbrellas, my kids, and make a mad dash for the safety of the covered walkway.

I obviously underestimated that we were parked three miles from safety. I opened one full size umbrella and handed it to my preschooler, while I manned the other in one hand, carrying Katelynn and Hannah’s school bag in the other. Hannah did pretty well for about two seconds until lightning and thunder were crashing all around us and the wind caught under her umbrella and threatened to carry her off to Oz. With both my hands full, I was forced to catch her with my body and force her against the wind, as she screamed in terror, towards the entrance. It took us what seemed like an hour to make it to the covered walkway and by that time we had been soaked with approximately 2,000 gallons of cold rain. How we didn’t get hit by lightening, I’ll never know!

Once inside, we squeaked down the hallway, sopping wet and shivering, towards her class. I caught the teacher’s assistant outside and asked her, in exasperation, what my options were for drop-off during days like these. Could I pull under the awning and walk her inside? Did they have staff or volunteers that could walk her from the carpool line to her classroom? She just stared at me for a second with wide-eyes like I had asked her to bare my next child for me and finally said, “Oh, nooooo…you have to park in the parking lot and walk her in. I’m sorry. I know that means you’ll get a little wet…” A little wet?! Lady, I just dodged 15 strikes of lightening, nearly dropped my infant trying to prevent my other child from being blown into the next county, and I’m soaked down to my socks and underwear! In what capacity does that qualify as a “little wet”?! Luckily, that string of word-vomit didn’t leave my lips, but my face said it all too clearly. So she said, “Well, you don’t have to drop her off so early.”

NEGATORY!

At that point, I lost it. I told her that I had important appointments to keep, a schedule to adhere to, and would eventually have job hours to abide by. What did they expect working parents to do? Wait in the parking lot until lunchtime when the rain passed? Humph! Ridiculous! Especially when the other students can be dropped off near the door, but they don’t want the preschool parents holding up traffic. I think I startled her, because she just walked away as I mumbled some half-hearted apology about being irritable because I was wet and hadn’t had my coffee. Then I kissed Hannah goodbye and carried Katelynn back to the car in Hurricane-screw-with-Brittney-Lee. I was so hot I’m sure the raindrops were evaporating in steam as soon as they made contact with my body.

So I made it to my appointment on time and then stopped to get my required cup ‘o Joe. I’m a little better now that I’ve dried out, but it still makes me angry and I’ll probably be sending a lengthy email to the school administration with suggestions that would be safer for the children who are expected to walk three miles to class in a severe lightening storm.

No Drama Mama

29 Jul 2011 Leave a Comment

by runswithdiapers in Stupid does not descriminate

Don’t you remember a time in your life when there was no drama? Think hard…no, harder. It might seem really vague, but it did exist. I promise. Somewhere between the late 80′s and the early 90′s there was this huge surge of DRAMA!!! It came out of nowhere. All of a sudden everywhere you turned somebody was having some type of baby mamma drama, baby daddy drama, work drama, family drama, or something similar.

Now, I’m not talking about problems. We all have problems with our relatives, our friends, our marriages, our children, and our money. That’s a given. I’m not even talking about issues, which are slightly more crazy than just plain old problems. Be honest with yourself. You’ve got an issue or two, and if you don’t then one of your relatives certainly does. Somewhere along that family tree there is a closet alcoholic, a grandmother who shoplifts, or somebody who huffed too much paint as a teenager. Issues.

No, I’m talking about DRAMA! Reality TV-style, tabloid-worthy, make-you-want-to-pull-off-your-weave-and beat-somebody-with-it drama.

O.M.G!

It’s always over something simple. “Girrrrlllll…umf. He said his phone went dead at work today. That man ain’t never left this house without a full charge! He’s cheating with that new B**** at work! I will beat her @***!”

Hey!!! Watch your mouth! This is a PG-rated blog!

And then it starts. You get sucked into the drama. You get filled in on all the back story: how she knows he’s cheating, what she found on his phone, where’s she’s followed him…the whole nine.

Thank you for sharing.

Now she wants to tell you what she plans to do about it, how she’s gonna catch him, and she needs your help to do it!

Yes, because you have that “to-catch-a-cheater recruit” look plastered all over your face…what gives? Let’s hope you are smart about it and find some way not to get sucked into somebody else’s insane Young-and-the-Restless psychoDRAMA. Because if not, you know that Crazy Spy Girl will be right back with Cheater Face next week like nothing happened and somehow she will blame you for trying to break up her marriage.

Where do these people find you????

Facebook.

Anyway, the drama comes in all shapes, forms, and circumstances. I realized that a long time ago and have since made a concerted effort to De-Dramatize my life.

I’m really sorry if your Ex-whatever is threatening to come across three states, kidnap your kids and the dog, and run to Mexico. But since he hasn’t paid child support in five years because he can’t keep a job and borrows his Grandma’s car to go play Guitar Hero at his buddy’s house, then I hardly think he can maneuver through an international border with a red-head toddler and a cocker-spaniel named FiFi. Just saying.

Yes, I know this is your brother’s third DUI offense, and he will actually get REAL jail-time, and all you need is another $500 to get the greatest-lawyer-ever that will prove the cops didn’t know how to read the breathalyzer that showed he was four times over the legal limit. Sorry. Hope he looks good in orange.

Drama. Some people just thrive on it. Like cockroaches, they’re easy to spot but hard to get rid of. And where there’s one, there’s a hundred more just waiting. Keep fighting them off! Your happiness is worth it!

The PsychoNetwork

20 Jul 2011 Leave a Comment

by runswithdiapers in Stupid does not descriminate

Facebook has got to be one of the most ingenious concepts that ever materialized! It has evolved from simply being a website to being a full on action verb. Taking about something important at work: “Hey, yeah…that sounds great! Just FACEBOOK me the details.” Running into an old high school friend: “It was soooo good to see you after thirty years. Do you FACEBOOK?” Want to totally embarrass a relative: “Dude, I am totally FACEBOOKING this?”

Everyone, and I mean everyone, has a Facebook page. My fifty year old parents Facebook, my bosses and coworkers also, my neighbors, my small group, all my friends and relatives, old college instructors, etc. I don’t know anyone without a Facebook account. I bet someone has even created a page for the homeless crackhead downtown that picks a fight with the parking meters or poops at the bus stop every weekend because I KNOW somebody has him in their “mobile uploads.”

I have a love-hate relationship with FB.

It can be a total conversation killer.
ME: “Hey, you won’t BELIEVE what happened to me yesterday!”
FB User: “Yeah, I saw it on FB already.”
ME: “Oh. So what’s new with you?”
FB User: “Did you not see my post this morning? I got like 25 comments and 38 likes!”
ME: “Nevermind.”
Conversation is pointless between habitual Facebookers.

Have you ever thought to yourself, “If you weren’t related to me, I would totally delete you as my Facebook friend!”

Do you find that your criteria to be someone’s friend on FB is set at a far lower standard than what you require of your real-life friends?

What the hell is a “poke”, anyway, and why is that so funny to some people?

Have you ever defriended someone because they play Farmville too much or kept flipping “poking” you for no reason?

Have you ever taken more than five minutes to come up with your status or googled a famous quote to make yourself sound smarter?

Have you ever posted a status, then “liked” it? That’s a little redundant, don’t you think…I mean, if you wrote the post then one would assume you like what you wrote. Just saying.

Have you ever anxiously awaited a co-worker to quit so you could defriend them?

Have you ever added someone you don’t know just because they sent you a friend request? Have you ever added someone you met once and now they post on your wall all the time?

Do you ever get tired of reading what other people are having for dinner? Do people ever “check-in” to anywhere other than a bar or restaurant…like the toilet, Lakeside, or 201 Poplar? Because, well, THAT’s the kind of stuff I want to see on MY newsfeed.

Don’t you always want to ask people what happened when they change their relationship status from “in a relationship” to “single”?

Go ahead…count how many girls you’re FB friends with that have a profile pic that shows more of their boobs than their face! I dare you!

Have you every scrutinized your profile pics to choose one that was “Facebook-worthy”? Don’t you hate it that your friends always tag you in the worst pictures you’ve ever taken in your whole life?

Have you ever been honked at waiting at a green-light that was red before you opened your mobile FB app to check your messages?

Have you ever gotten so bored that you get mad that nobody is posting on FB?

Yep, it’s addicting and quite ridiculous. I could go on and on, but the fact is: as annoying as FB can be it is also equally entertaining! It has brought old friends back into my life and allowed new friendships to grow. It provides a source of support, an outlet for anger and frustration, and a platform to share my randomness with the world. Happy Facebooking!

Crazy Cat Lady

07 Jul 2011 1 Comment

by runswithdiapers in Stupid does not descriminate

Let me start this story by stating that Hannah asked me for a kitty about a month ago and I told her she could have one when we moved into our new house. Since I made her that promise, I’ve been thinking about what kind of cat would be best, considering that she is very three and not so gentle, and I also have little Katelynn to worry about. So, in my infinite mommy-wisdom, I decided an older cat would be better than a kitten so I could get a better idea of what the cat’s temperament would be like around my children. Good plan, right?

If I’m honest, my motivation to get a cat was accelerated along by the mouse I found, and caught…alive…in my apartment and threw out on the porch. It gives me the heebee-geebees just thinking about it! Ick!!! But that’s a separate blog post all together. Let’s just say, I was suddenly uber excited to get a cat, sooner rather than later.

Enter “The House of Mews”: a feline-rescue shelter on South Cooper in Memphis. There’s a feel-good moment for you! I wasn’t just getting a cat, but I was adopting some precious, abandoned unwanted kitty who desperately wanted a family to love it! Awww! I already pictured myself writing out the donation check to the cause, picking out the best litter pan and cat toys, and carting my little kitty home for Hannah to love as it purred to it’s little hearts content. I was psyched! And Hannah was psyched as I prepared her for what it would be like to pick out her new pet.

We waited until 4pm when they opened and headed inside. “House of Pew” is a more appropriate name. To say it was rank is a gross understatement. It smelled like I shoved a litter pan UP my nose! Cats were everywhere: in baskets, on furniture, locked in cages. It was awful. But I held my breath and pushed on…why? Because I love my child and she was all giggly and jittery with excitement like only a three year old can be.

So, from the minute we walked through the door (myself, Hannah, Katelynn, my sister and her two kids), the owner was having a fit. Her first comment was, “I guess it’s Zoo Day today!” Rude. But I ignored it because, yes, we are quite the crew. Women with children. Sucks for you. But then she said it again, louder. And again. She kept fussing about the kids touching the cats and talking about how the kids are covered in disease and would make the cats sick. Really?! Because I was thinking the same thing about your cats touching MY KIDS. She refused to help us and I should have left, but when it comes to keeping promises to my child, I can suck up other people’s stupidity.

Fortunately, there was a very friendly volunteer who helped us choose just the right kitty and handed me an application. Yes, apparently, you are not pre-approved like Visa and MasterCard. So I filled it out and the part that asked “Who are you buying this cat for?”, I proudly checked the box that said: My Child. Another proud mommy moment. I LOVE doing things for my kids. More than anything. Unfortunately, Devil Cat-Lady used that as an opportunity to interrogate me. Why did I not check: Myself? Would this not be a family cat? How was I going to keep the kids from letting the cat out?

I ever so patiently, and with great restraint, and yes…as HARD as it was, very little sarcasm…satisfied all her answers which drove her crazy. She didn’t want us to have the cat. She laughed at the fact that I told her my children could not let the cat out because, well, THEY don’t leave my sight and wander out open doors so there was no way they’d be letting the cat out! Are you kidding me? They are three and four months! They don’t get to go potty, or to bed for that matter, without me. She then told me she didn’t think I was responsible enough for a cat with the children, especially since I was getting the cat for my child instead of myself, and this was a huge problem. She would take my number, run my application through three animal protection agencies, and give me a call IF we were approved. (No, I swear…I couldn’t make this stuff up!) Like credit bureaus, only for cat-ownership? Do you get a credit score?

So, in other words, we were DENIED. I can raise two kids by myself, but obviously, I am too shady to care for an animal that’s barely one step up from a squirrel. It’s a cat, lady, not a child from Ethiopia. Where’s Brad and Angelina when you need them? Anyway, I told her to just tear up the application and not worry about, which she promptly did with a big fat smile on her face before I could even finish my sentence. So glad I didn’t have a really sharp pencil in my hand, because I genuinely wanted to poke her eye out after I explained to my crushed child that, no, we wouldn’t be taking a kitty home from there.

After I loaded the kids in the car, I was stewing so hard, I couldn’t see straight. So I went back inside and lost it on her. I told her how incredibly rude and disrespectful she was and how horrible it was for my child. She was completely unapologetic and told me my child needed more than a cat. I couldn’t speak to her anymore after that, so I just told her I would pray for her and left.

I’m not sure if you can pray for the Devil, but I’ll try. I left feeling sorry for Hannah, and for the poor kitty that could have come home with a loving and adoring family, but will now sleep in a cage of cat poo for heavens knows how long. All because this nasty woman has hatred in her heart for children. What has to happen to you in your lifetime to make you that incredibly mean?

However, always one to look at the bright side, or my version anyway, I left grateful that I don’t go home everyday smelling like a cat crapped on my face.